Читать книгу San Antone - V. J. Banis - Страница 15

Chapter Nine

By the time the sun had climbed halfway up the morning sky, Lewis had begun to feel his thirst.

He drove on, trying to ignore the sweat dripping from beneath his hatband into his eyes, and the increasing soreness of hands unaccustomed to handling a team. He’d promised himself he would drive the first day. People were looking up to him, after all—Lewis Harte, of Eaton Hall, South Carolina. The head of the train. He’d heard it referred to in Galveston as the Harte Train. So, even here in Texas, his name had begun to acquire significance, hadn’t it? Which was only right.

“Just wait till we get to San Antonio,” he told himself.

It almost seemed as if everything had been hanging in suspension since they had left South Carolina. Even the things that had happened he saw through a haze like that blurring the far-off Texas horizon. His senses, his entire being, everything was focused on their destination.

San Antonio. A half-million acres, to make a new Eaton Hall, the biggest, grandest plantation anyone had ever seen, and he its master. Rice growing as far as the eye could see, farther, even. And cotton, too; he’d brought cottonseed, enough to grow what they needed, anyway. And fruits and vegetables; they’d need to look out for themselves, obviously, with San Antonio far more isolated than they had expected. Lucky for them all, he’d had the foresight he did.

Joanna and all her lessons, he thought scornfully; a lot of good her geography books had done them. He had made up his mind, there were things he meant to put his foot down on. All this learning business. And the way she’d changed since they’d left home; half the time she acted like she’d forgotten she had a husband.

Of course, he had to give her her due, she’d done a good job of managing things. Not that a woman wasn’t supposed to help; that was her job, wasn’t it? A helpmate. Obviously she hadn’t found that in any of her books, or taken the time to study its meaning. Too clever by half for her own good, Joanna was.

Well, yes, he could feel admiration for her. And disappointment at the same time. He didn’t know why he always felt cheated when she handled everything in that level-headed way of hers, like she’d taken something from him to do it.

His throat was dust-dry. He reached for the flask in his vest pocket and caught a movement out of the corner of his eye: Joanna, watching him.

Dammit to hell, always waiting for him to fall on his face—you’d think she was expecting him to. It put a curse on a man, made him trip despite himself.

“Watch out,” she said.

“I see it.” He snatched the rein in both hands and wheeled violently around a boulder, making the wagon rock violently. “You could wreck us, shouting in my ear that way. I’m not blind, you know.”

Admiration and disappointment. Now, what kind of a man could make a marriage out of that?

Take their wedding night, for instance. Wouldn’t you think a woman would be glad for a man who knew what he was about? Wouldn’t you think experience would be a good thing at a time like that?

But, no, there was Joannie, just looking at him in that way of hers, cold, unforgiving. He could still see that look in her eyes— maybe he had ought to have put out the lamp, but, dammit all, a man did like to watch.

Disappointed, yes, even on their wedding night. He had known that before he was even done, had seen in her eyes that he had done it wrong, and how the hell would she know...? No, wait, that wasn’t right. It was him that was disappointed, had been all along....

There was a sudden crash and the wagon gave a lurch. The oxen bellowed.

“What the hell....” Lewis leaned out to see, and almost fell from the seat—the heat made a man dizzy, God Almighty.

They had broken a wheel. Despite Lewis’s insistence that the others push on, the whole train ground to a halt.

“It was that fella in front of me,” Lewis said, angry because everyone seemed to be blaming him for the delay. “Kicking up a dust storm, you couldn’t see hand in front of face.”

“You’ve been driving all morning,” Joanna said in a sympathetic voice. “Why don’t you rest awhile out of the sun and let me drive?”

“Makes a man thirsty,” Lewis said, taking out his flask and drinking; he cast a defiant glance around, but no one seemed to have paid any attention.

He demurred at first, but Joanna pointed out that women were driving in some of the other wagons, and would be throughout the trip. “And I’ve got Gregory up here if I get tired,” she added.

Lewis found a patch of shade on the far side of the wagon and sat sipping from his flask while the lieutenant’s men saw to changing the wheel. By the time they were ready to start up again, Joanna had convinced him to climb inside out of the now scorching Texas sun.

In no time, he had fallen asleep.

* * * *

Joanna quickly learned that handling a team of oxen over the rough ground was a far cry from driving a buggy or even a farm wagon in South Carolina. Her arms ached, and she began to sympathize with the thirst that had plagued Lewis. The sun beat mercilessly on her, despite the protection of the sunbonnet she wore, and she was covered from head to foot with the dust of the trail. Gregory crawled into the back of the wagon and fetched her a dipper of water, but Joanna was too aware of the importance of stretching their water supply to have more than a few sips.

“I’ll drive if you want,” Gregory offered.

As welcome as a period of respite sounded, however, she declined. For all his willingness, Gregory was little more than a boy; it would not take long for him to be exhausted as well. It was not yet even midday, and so far none of the other wagons had changed drivers.

“I’ll drive till we stop at noon,” she said, and was soon wondering if she could stick to that promise.

Just when she was beginning to fear she could go no farther, there was the clatter of hoof beats alongside, and the Indian, William Horse, rode up to the wagon. It was the first she’d seen him since they had set out, or in any case, she hadn’t noticed him. He was dressed indistinguishably from the cowboys—the same dugris, which seemed to be standard for everyone but the soldiers, with a kerchief at his throat, and atop his head one of the wide-brimmed Stetson hats, the practicality of which she could now more fully appreciate.

He tipped his hat toward her and then, as gracefully as a dancer, leaned sideways from his horse, slid from the saddle, and, while her breath caught in her throat, leaped to the wagon and was sitting beside her.

“I will drive the wagon for you,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Oh, but that’s not necessary...your horse....”

“He will follow, he is an Indian pony,” he said, and without further ado, took the reins from her.

She smiled, too weary to pretend she wasn’t glad to have them go. “I am grateful,” she said.

His face remained expressionless, but he nodded, and concentrated his attention on the team. It was immediately evident that he knew what he was about; you almost fancied you could see the oxen falling into step, shedding the lackadaisical manner with which they’d followed her plaintive suggestions.

Gregory was more than grateful; he was soon leaning back and forth, one time in front of his mother and the next behind her, fairly threatening to topple her from the seat while he plied their working guest with an endless stream of questions: “What kind of trees are those? Is it always this hot and dry? How long can the horses travel without water? Is that really an Indian pony? Did you catch him wild?”

Joanna was certain she’d never heard her son so voluble. After a while, his voice faded into a sort of droning noise, and the heat seemed to lessen; she could actually feel herself growing cooler....

The gentle touch of a hand on her shoulder brought her back— she realized with a start she’d been about to pass out.

It was Gregory’s hand on her shoulder, and William Horse, with one eye on the team and the other on her, was giving Gregory directions.

“She must lie down, inside, out of the sun,” he said. “Water, but only a little. Wet her wrists and her face, and a small amount to drink, but no more.”

“No, really, I’m all right,” Joanna tried to insist, but truth to tell, she did still feel light-headed, and found herself hanging on tightly to the edge of the drive board.

“Do as he says, please, mother,” Gregory said. “We can handle this.”

“Oh, well,” she murmured, but she let him help her into the shaded interior of the wagon.

It did feel heavenly to lie down and rest her eyes. Gregory was back in a moment, helping her to sit up while she took a few sips of water, and draping a wet cloth over her brow afterward.

Lewis was snoring faintly nearby, and, lying inside like this, the constant motion of the wagon was far less wearying than it had been in the driver’s seat. She rose and fell with it, rocking gently to and fro, letting it lull her into a dreamy state of suspension between sleep and waking. It was the most peaceful moment she could remember since they’d left Eaton Hall. She drifted contentedly into sleep....

And woke to an uproar.

At first, her brain refused to tell her where she was or how she’d gotten there, keeping secrets from her, teasing her, the way her mother did when she was little.

“God damn thieving Indians!” Lewis’s voice, an angry bellow.

Lewis. Indian. William Horse! She sat up abruptly, banging her head on something hanging from the crosspiece (“Space is precious inside a wagon; you must learn to move around things”), and pushed aside the flap over the opening.

Lewis was there, just alongside the wagon, his riding crop raised in a violent pose. They were stopped—that was the first thing she grasped; the rest came more slowly, seeping upward into her consciousness, like something she’d known long before, and forgotten, that was just coming back to her.

William Horse, standing in front of Lewis, neither cowering nor defending himself. Gregory, to the side of the two men, not cowering either, but holding himself back: You could actually see the man, not quite ready yet for action; the boy, relinquishing submission, while her son teetered between boyhood and manhood.

Time, holding her breath, blinked and went on, content to let her handle this. The fist with the riding crop in it (Where on earth had he found that? It gave this whole scene a touch of the ridiculous) lifted to come down.

“The minute a man’s back is turned,” Lewis was ranting.

“Lewis! For heaven’s sake!” She nearly fell from the wagon, reaching out to snatch the whip from his hand.

Unexpecting, he let it slide easily from his fingers. His head snapped around, mouth open, eyes red and graveled. It was the first time she had ever taken physical action to defy her husband, and it would be hard to say which of them was the more surprised.

“Have you gone daft, woman?”

She crawled out, clambering to the ground, heedless of skirts and bared legs and people watching, though it did just register that the Indian moved involuntarily toward her.

“He was helping us,” she said, sorry that she hadn’t stayed in the wagon where she could look down on her husband; he was too tall to scold this way. “The driving was too much for me. He came up to help.”

“Help?” You could see comprehension struggling its way through sleep and liquor. Heaven alone knew what he thought he’d seen, waking up.

He looked around, uncertain, suddenly self-aware. People were staring. By now, Joanna realized, the whole train was stopped. It was midday.

She stepped to her husband, put a gentle hand on his arm, was surprised to discover that he was trembling. “It’s all right,” she said in a lower voice. “I told them you were ill. I said you had a fever.”

And now I am lying, she thought; it was inescapable: Whatever spoiled, spoiled whatever it touched. Unless you cut off the rot. But the rot was in Lewis; how could she cut him off without sacrificing him?

“A fever....”

“Rest here awhile, in the shade of the wagon. I’ll see if Lucretia hasn’t some lunch ready. And this afternoon you can rest inside the wagon. There’s three of us now to handle the driving, no need for you to wear yourself out. You’ll need to be fresh and rested when we get to San Antonio.”

“San Antonio, yes.” He let her lead him to the side of the wagon and sank gratefully to the ground in the small patch of shade. “Yes, I’ll have everything to do once we get there.”

He was already reaching for his flask when she turned away from him.

William Horse was still standing where he had been, one hand on the shoulder of an ox. She tried to read his dark eyes as she came up to him, but without success.

“I am sorry,” she said. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” He made no elaboration. His eyes bored into hers for a moment; she had no idea what he was thinking or feeling. Then, abruptly, he turned away from her and walked toward his horse, eating grass nearby.

Gregory, looking embarrassed now by the step he had nearly taken, said, “I’ll water the stock,” and the incident apparently was ended.

But not entirely. A wagon train, Joanna quickly learned, became a small community of its own, even more circumscribed than the society they had known in South Carolina.

The first effect of all this was the return of Melissa, flouncing over the hard-packed earth as if her feet could not deign to touch it, to announce that Doña Sebastiano had suggested perhaps after all she would be more comfortable traveling with her own family.

“That’s rather a change of heart, isn’t it?” Joanna asked. Up to now, Doña Sebastiano had been fervently in pursuit of closer ties.

“And what do you suppose brought it on?” Melissa demanded angrily, lavishly sprinkling her throat and wrists with water from their dipper.

“Oh, dear,” Joanna said. William Horse, obviously; she had been warned how Texans felt. “Well, it can’t hurt to follow her suggestion for a while, and I promise, I’ll see if I can’t patch things up with Doña Sebastiano this evening. Please, darling, no more quarrels just now, all right?”

She had no sooner mollified her daughter, however, than Lieutenant Price was there, strolling up for all the world as if he had nothing on his mind but the time of day.

“Your husband all right?” he asked in an overly casual voice.

“Yes. I’ve suggested he rest for a while.”

“This Texas heat gets to a man when he’s not used to it.”

“It gets to a woman, too, it may surprise you to know.”

“Liquor can make it worse.”

“There aren’t any things liquor makes better that I’ve noticed,” Joanna said, too sharply. She was not, just at the moment, in a frame of mind to discuss her husband’s drinking.

Webb Price’s lips tightened, but he stood his ground. “About that Indian,” he said. “There’s people grumbling about his riding with a white woman—”

“If it’s anyone’s business,” Joanna said, giving vent to pent-up anger, “you may tell them I have hired Mr. Horse as our driver. I’m sure even Texans can’t object to an Indian working for them, if the wages are low enough.”

He turned away and would have left her, but she was immediately sorry for her rudeness. “Lieutenant, I am sorry,” she said contritely. “Please, you must see, we do need someone, and there’s no one else. You’ve got a train to lead and no men to spare, and the other families have their hands full with their own wagons. If I must handle our wagon by myself, it’s only going to end up slowing everyone down.”

He paused, giving her an appraising look. “You’re a tough woman,” he said, without making it clear whether or not it was meant as a compliment.

“Texas women aren’t soft, are they?” she said, smiling. “Not in country like this, surely.”

After a moment, he returned her smile. “No, ma’am, I guess they aren’t, not the ones who survive here.”

“As I intend to do.”

“And I reckon you will. I’ll straighten folks out if there’s any trouble.” He tipped his hat to her and left.